


The Shipman's Tale

by owlbsurfinbird



Series: The Cambridge Tales [6]
Category: Lewis - Fandom
Genre: Autism, College, Differently Abled, Gen, Lewis Summer Challenge 2014, summer job
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-09
Updated: 2014-08-09
Packaged: 2018-02-11 00:01:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2045211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlbsurfinbird/pseuds/owlbsurfinbird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I know of nobody who is purely autistic, or purely neurotypical. Even God has some autistic moments, which is why the planets spin.”<br/>― Jerry Newport, Your Life is Not a Label</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Shipman's Tale

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to the_small_hobbit for Britpick and betaread!

**Go**

**Cambridge, 1997**

"We want a tour. We are able to pay for it. I understand that it might be difficult to make accommodations, but you're from Cambridge! Engineer a solution."

Hathaway already had his group assembled for the walk to the punt dock: a mix of disinterested couples and surly adolescents stood in the cobble-stoned lane. His fellow punter was arguing with a woman in a sporty-looking wheelchair. A middle aged couple with maple leaf t-shirts were holding the hands of a young man who seemed to be too old to be holding hands as if he was a small child.

Except that he was behaving like a child. He was tired and he whined as he bobbed up and down from the waist, "Go, go, go, go."

"Take my group," said Hathaway to the other punter. 

"Thank you," said the woman. "Do you have experience or training or…." Her voice trailed off. "You were just being kind, weren't you."

Hathaway smiled slightly. "I'm used to moving injured rowers out of skiffs. I think we can get you in and out of the punt safely with some assistance." He waved over another punter and explained how they would make the transfer. The Canadian couple watched with fascination, despite the young man trying to turn the other way. 

"Go, go, go, go."

The other punter helped get the woman settled with pillows and cushions. "Should I take back the chair?"

"Could we collapse it and put it in the boat, please?"

The other punter sidled up to Hathaway, who helped him collapse the chair. "You're losing passengers with this lot," he hissed.

Hathaway nodded. "Yes, I am. Make a note of it. Go run and tell Paul," he said dryly.

The punter shrugged. "You'll be out of work by the end of the month," he warned.

"I know. I'm looking forward to it."

James turned to the couple, meeting their eyes before addressing the young man who didn't look at him at all."You want to go, yeah?"

"Go, go, go, go."

"We have rules," Hathaway said.

The young man stared rigidly at the ground, head tilted slightly. Listening.

"No jumping. No standing in the boat."

"Yeah." Slight bow.

"No hands in the water."

"Yeah." Slight bow.

"No shouting."

No response.

"That might be a little harder for him to manage," cautioned the Canadian man. "He shouts when he's excited. We've prepared him as best we can."

"You said he's been in a boat before," said the woman from the punt. "Loves the water. More likely to jump in than shout, right, Albert?"

"Yeah."

"No jumping in the water then," added Hathaway.

"Yeah."

"We'll get him in—um—" The Canadians gestured to the punt.

"I understand." James stepped onto the till. "Do you want the talking portion of the tour?"

"I do," said the woman who had been in the wheelchair. "You might think we know each other, but we've all just met, really. We were together on one of those coach tours that got cancelled—mechanical problems—and then we met again on the train coming into town."

"Go on the train," said Albert. 

The Canadian woman sighed. "Yes, we will go back on the train after we go on the boat. Albert loves trains."

"Yeah."

"And he loves boats," said the Canadian man. "He'd tell you how much he loves boats but we left his talker in the hotel."

"Don't start that again," warned the Canadian woman. 

Hathaway addressed Albert. "This is a punt. It is a type of boat."

"Row boat, paddle boat, freighter, skiff, punt, gondola, barge, glass-bottom, sail, hobie-cat, yacht—"

James laughed as he pushed out. "You know a lot more about boats than I do!"

"More?"

"No, he doesn't want to hear more, do you?" The woman from the wheelchair said, hurriedly. "I would like to hear about the colleges, please. Something of the history?"

James nodded and began. He didn't alter the content of his recitation, but he spoke a little more slowly and clearly than usual, remembering the son of one of the estate staff. Although the boy had only lived there a few months one summer, he and James had gotten along well since neither of them demanded much of the other. They were of an age where watching bugs crawl and grass grow was high entertainment.

Albert sat rigid between his parents and held up a hand as if cupping the sky. The gesture reminded James suddenly of this friend, who would look through curled fingers at lamp light in the big house and hid in the garden's shade because the milky morning sunlight was too bright for his eyes. He couldn't remember the kid's name, though he'd spent days and weeks with him.

Hathaway reached the turn-around point and maneuvered the punt around for the return to the docks. 

"Go," whispered Albert. He glanced at James, just for an instant, and looked away.

James scanned ahead and saw a clear bit of river in front of him. Most punts had poled to shore; no bridges, good visibility and a swath of open water were before him. "Hang on," he said to Albert.

He pushed mightily, gathering speed. It wasn't racing speed, not by a long shot, but it was faster than the leisurely pace they'd been doing. As they zipped past the Pimm's punt at the dock, he got waves from their crew and cheers from his fellow polers.

"Go, go, go, go," chanted Albert.

James overshot the Mathematical Bridge and slowed as he made the turn going back under the bridge to approach the dock on the other side. He enlisted another punter to help with the wheelchair—the woman thanked him profusely, though she didn't tip much. The Canadian couple didn't tip at all. Not that it mattered, really.

He got his gratuity from Albert, who didn't look at him, didn't say a word. But who smiled happily at the ground all the same.


End file.
